Untouchable
by LF74
Summary: A Harry more affected by his childhood goes to Hogwarts, upsetting the chessmaster's plans as he does so. How will the Wizarding World react? Grey, Intelligent Harry; Manipulative Dumbledore; Pairing undecided but won't happen until 2nd/3rd year at least
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The man was, in a word, an oaf. Granted, the way he called Vernon a prune and gave Dudley a tail was amusing and something he had wanted to do himself for a while, but that did not change the fact that the eight foot tall man who lumbered along the streets of London was an idiot, albeit a very kind one. He could detect no dishonesty or malice in the man, almost the opposite in fact, but such people always saw the best in others and as such were easily manipulated, and from the way he waxed lyrical about a man called Dumbledore told him that he likely was. No man was as good as Hagrid made this Dumbledore out to be, and people who made themselves appear so were normally the ones with the most skeletons hidden in their closets. Harry already hated him, Hagrid had let slip it was Dumbledore who had left him with the Dursleys. From the sounds of it Hagrid had been there too, but clearly he would do whatever this Dumbledore told him to. That didn't mean he wasn't having to clamp down on his anger though.

When he had been told he was a wizard he had to fake the surprise that the man would expect, as if he hadn't worked it out. He had no idea there was an entire community of witches and wizards, but he knew he was one. He could turn his teachers blue and disappear from one place and instantly reappear in another, what else would he call it except magic? He had even tried to do it just when he wanted to, floating things and summoning things to him, but he had been met with only limited success. He would keep trying though. Speaking to snakes, however, that was new.

"'arry, there's the Leaky," he said while gesturing wildly towards a grubby looking pub that normal people, muggles was what Hagrid had called them, seemed to walk past as if it wasn't there.

The pub was as grubby inside as it was outside, dimly lit and the air thick with the smell of smoke. It was relatively empty, mid-morning as it was, though there were several strange looking people sat on stools or in dingy little booths. There was a man in the corner with a turban wrapped tightly around his head, and when he looked at him he got a tingling pain in his forehead which he quickly squashed down. The man behind the bar was thin and old, his head almost bald but for a few wisps of grey hair and with more teeth gone than remaining.

They all waved to Hagrid as he entered, with the exception of the man in the turban whose eyes never left Harry. Clearly his guide was a regular and well liked judging by the hearty welcomes he received, but it didn't take long before their eyes were drawn to him. After a few seconds the old barman's eyes seemed to bug out and he rushed out from behind his bar with a speed that belied his years, his eyes not leaving Harry for even a second.

"Merlin's beard, its Harry Potter," he said as he grabbed Harry's hand and shook it enthusiastically, and he had to fight the impulse to pull his hand away violently.

It took ten minutes to extricate himself from the crowd that formed around him, full of tearful wizards thanking for something that he supposedly did as a baby. He had to keep a smile firmly plastered across his face while they did so, but masks were something he had become very good at over the years. When they finally managed to leave, Hagrid actually grinned at him, as if being mobbed by strangers was an enjoyable way to spend the morning.

He tapped several bricks on the wall of the small courtyard, mumbling as he did so, and the bricks of the wall began to spin outwards to form a wide archway big enough for even Hagrid to get through with ease. The archway opened onto a narrow cobblestone street that snaked towards a white marble building that towered over the mismatched storefronts which Hagrid walked straight past, Harry following a few paces behind with his eyes roving around in an attempt to see everything. There was a pile of cauldrons stacked outside one shop, in the window of another were several ridiculous looking sets of robes and he could hear the cacophony of animals from a third as he followed his guide.

As they approached he had to stop himself staring at what he assumed must be a goblin, a short pale skinned creature with beady black eyes and a cruel snarl on its face. It was dressed in armour that glinted in the sunlight, a spear clasped in its clawed hands, and it glared distrustfully at them as they entered. A second set of silver doors blocked their way for a second before they were opened, but it was long enough for him to catch the warning etched into them. He agreed with Hagrid's assessment; robbing them would be madness.

The room he entered was long and lined with counters behind which more goblins sat hunched over as they peered at precious jewels or weighed piles of golden coins, this time wearing fine looking suits instead of armour. Hagrid approached the nearest empty counter, greeting the goblin behind it jovially as if they were old friends. The goblin sneered in response.

"We've come to get some money out of Harry Potter's vault, got to get his Hogwarts supplies see," he said.

"You have his key?"

"Aye, got it here somewhere," he said as he searched through the countless pockets of his coat, withdrawing a golden key a few moments later. Harry watched from a few steps behind, unable to stop a flash of anger showing on his face. Why in the world did Hagrid have the key to his vault? It was Harry's money. He probably got it from Dumbledore, but the argument was equally valid then as well. It wasn't his money. The goblin caught the look on the boy's face and tucked it away; his superiors would surely want to know.

"Professor Dumbledore told me to get the you-know-what from vault 713," Hagrid said as he handed over a letter, his chest puffing out slightly in pride like a child who answered a question right in class. The goblin scrutinised it for a few seconds before he looked up and nodded slightly.

"Very well." He said, before he barked out an order in a strange guttural language causing another goblin to step forwards.

"Griphook will escort you to both vaults. Good day." The goblin said curtly, before he immediately returned to scribbling in his ledger until they had followed Griphook out of sight.

The door they followed Griphook through led into a narrow stone passageway that Hagrid had to duck slightly to use, lit dimly with flaming torches. After a few seconds of walking Griphook whistled loudly, causing a rickety looking cart speed across a set of tracks and come to a stop in front of them. The goblin immediately hopped in and Harry followed, Hagrid squeezing in with a slight difficulty, and with another high pitched whistle the cart sped away once more. They raced through twisting passages and dove steeply into deep ravines that were so dark they appeared bottomless, coming to a stop a few minutes later in front of a door that seemed to be chiselled directly into the stone, bare but for the key hole that Griphook pushed his key into and twisted while Hagrid shakily leant against the wall.

When the door opened Harry was stunned by the piles of gold coins pushed against the wall, as well as the smaller mounds of silver and bronze. He had never had anything before, and now he had all this? He pushed down his excitement and grabbed a bag that lie on top of the closest pile and began scooping coins into it, quickly realising it held far more than it should be able to. He didn't take that much, he didn't know how long this would have to last him and Hagrid had said it would be more than enough, but he wanted to get the best supplies he could.

Shortly they were hurtling even deeper into the caves below London, through narrow gaps and around corners sharp enough that Harry was sure his brain was being forced out of his ear. He had to restrain a grin at the speed, though Hagrid looked even paler than he had at his vault. It didn't take long to reach the keyless vault 713 which, strangely, Griphook stroked to open. Inside was a single small package that Hagrid stuffed in his pocket, winking at Harry as he did so before clambering back into the cart. Harry was rather curious about what was in the package, but not enough to actually ask. He was getting the feeling him knowing about was planned as well, dampening his desire to find out what it was even further.

After another cart ride that made his eyes water and his face numb, Harry found himself blinking at the sudden brightness as he stepped out of Gringotts while Hagrid looked pasty beside him, sweat shining on his cheeks.

"You're not looking so good Hagrid," he said in his most concerned voice, "Do you want to wait for me in the Leaky Cauldron and I'll do my shopping by myself. I've got my list, I'll be fine."

"I don't know, 'arry, Professor Dumbledore told me to keep an eye on yeh,"

"I don't particularly want to be thrown up on, Hagrid. I'll be fine." He said with a false grin, wanting to be rid of the man.

"Oh alrigh'," the half giant replied with a chuckle, "You be careful though, and stay away from Knockturn Alley. All sorts of unsavoury people down there."

Harry nodded agreeably, already planning to go down there as soon as possible. But he had something else to do first. As soon as the archway closed behind his minder he turned around and entered Gringotts again, approaching the same teller he had before who looked up without even a sliver of surprise on his face.

"Excuse me, I have a question." He said.

"What is it little wizard?"

"Could you tell me why in the world he has the key to my vault?" He asked, an edge of displeasure he had let slip colouring his otherwise polite tone.

The goblin actually smirked slightly before hopping down from his stool and gesturing for Harry to follow as he walked through another door into even more winding stone passages that became smoother and wider the further they walked. After a few minutes they came to an ornate golden door much like the one at the entrance to the bank with twin sentries on either side, only this one was inlaid with countless precious stones that formed an elegant G in the centre. The goblin who had escorted him cast flickering glances between the two guards as he approached and Harry followed as the doors slowly swung open, hoping he wasn't about to end up skewered on the end of a goblin spear for moving when he wasn't supposed to. The goblins glared hatefully at him and their hands tightened around their spears as he moved past them but they didn't attack, and Harry inwardly sighed.

The room he entered was large and circular, furnished with rich carpets and dark woods. The white walls were covered in paintings of vicious looking goblins, tapestries depicting grisly battles and swords still stained with blood, but the room was dominated by a large mahogany desk behind which sat the fiercest looking goblin Harry could imagine; he was taller than Harry, dwarfing the goblin who was currently speaking to him, and looked older too, his already wrinkled skin beginning to sag slightly. He had a scar that slashed across his face that made his lips pull grotesquely at every expression, narrowly missing the black eyes that held an ocean of glittering power.

Power. That was something Harry could respect. It was something he would have himself one day, and not just the influence it seemed he would have as the Boy-Who-Lived. He planned to make that an insignificant detail when compared to what he was, a footnote in the history books. He wanted to be remembered for something more than surviving the Killing Curse - something that he believed he had no hand in accomplishing.

With a bow the goblin who had escorted him left, leaving Harry alone in the room with the scarred goblin, and Harry had to fight the urge to flinch at the full force of his attention. After a few seconds the goblin spoke, his voice deep and grating.

"When you entered this bank, Harry Potter, I was prepared to confiscate the entirety of your vaults and prohibit you from ever setting foot in Gringotts again. Had you not been a child I would not have allowed this meeting, I would simply have done so. We do not take kindly to disrespect from wizards, and being ignored for years certainly qualifies,"

An almost imperceptible gesture stopped Harry from interrupting and the goblin continued, a hint of approval appearing in his eyes for a second at the Harry's compliance.

"However, from the reaction my teller described to me it seems you knew nothing of this trespass, so I am inclined to listen to your explanation before I make my decision. Now, Harry Potter, when exactly did you discover the existence of the magical world?" he asked, his eyes already scanning Harry's face for any indication of dishonesty.

"Yesterday, when Hagrid kicked in my door to get me. Before that I knew I was magical or something similar, there was no other way to explain what I could do, but I didn't know there was an entire _world_ of magical people."

The goblin scrutinised the boy's face for a few more seconds before he straightened up, seeing no sign that the boy was telling anything but the truth. It seemed Dumbledore had been meddling and the old goblin had to restrain a growl at the thought of the man. He was not well liked at Gringotts, his belief that his bloated ego and sense of self-importance made his command law to goblins as well as wizards had caused more than a few grievances. Had he not been such a prominent figure in the magical world the goblins would have done something about it, but he was arguably the most well-known wizard in Europe, if not the world. An overt punishment or accusation against him would set wizarding-goblin relations back decades. Several times he had attempted to gain access to the Potter vaults, citing his position as Harry Potter's magical guardian as giving him authority, but unfortunately for him Gringotts recognised only the will of magic, and She said that Harry Potter's magical guardian was still one Sirius Black.

A most curious happening, but the goblins had not told any wizard about it. Even if the goblins told the wizards nothing good would come from it, especially as the guardianship indicated his innocence. Magic would not give guardianship of a boy to the man who had betrayed his family to a man who wanted him dead. Either nothing would happen or Black would be killed, and that would only give Dumbledore the position. That was even if the wizards believed them; goblin and wizarding beliefs of magic were quite different. Goblins believed magic created everything on Earth, ebbing and flowing for all eternity, a sentient being that had her own will. Wizards thought magic simply a tool, a blasphemous idea to the goblins and one that had caused several wars in the past.

Of course, if questioned on it Dumbledore would simply say he had put anti-mail wards around the young Potter heir for 'protection', and he probably had. But these wards would have no effect on Gringotts mail. Blood was taken every time an account was opened, at birth if the vault was inherited, and this blood was used to blood lock every letter to its intended recipient, ensuring no other could open it. To stop such letters reaching their destination a different type of anti-mail ward would be needed, quite different from those that prevent harmful letters from strangers and quite illegal too. To ward against blood magic blood magic would have to be used.

"Well then," the goblin spoke at last, "it appears we have much to talk about, young Potter. My name is Ragnok, Chief of the Goblin Nation. It appears we have both been wronged by the same man."

"Dumbledore." Harry snarled, and Ragnok was surprised by the contempt that dripped from his voice. The boy had barely known of their world for a day, and yet he already clearly hated the man. Why? At his look Harry elaborated with a single sentence:

"He left me _there_."

That explained it. Dumbledore may have stopped the legal reading of the will before the Wizengamot, but he could not stop the goblins reading the copy left with them as was required for the division of the estate, even if they could not execute it. That was how they had evidence that Sirius Black was innocent even if it could not be used as the will was sealed, and Ragnok had read it again when the young Potter heir first walked into Gringotts. The will stated several guardians should they both be killed, but it was made clear that under no circumstances should Harry James Potter be left with Lily Potter's muggle sister. Given that he didn't know of the magical world for more than a day it was obvious where Dumbledore had put him, and equally obvious that the late Potters were right to forbid it. The boy was far older than his years, his emerald eyes icy and sharp. Far from the warmth and innocence that should dance in the eyes of the young.

Ragnok restrained a grimace at the thought of the boy's treatment; such things never happened to goblin children, and if they did the perpetrator would suffer beyond imagination. Children were the blessings of Magic herself, to be treasured and protected beyond all else.

After a few seconds he tapped a few runes on his desk before he spoke again, steepling his gnarled fingers beneath his chin as he did so.

"From the age of 8 you should have been receiving correspondence regarding your vaults and any properties owned by the Potter family. Evidently they were blocked, though they cannot be opened by any but you. The details of your accounts are quite safe, Mr Potter. Bagnuk, the Potter account manager, will be here shortly along with the house ring. While I have read your accounts briefly when you came into Gringotts today, Bagnuk knows the details better than I."

Harry clearly heard the unspoken "I have better things to do" and nodded silently, still sat stiffly in his chair. It was not long before another goblin entered wearing a finely made suit, throwing scathing looks towards Harry as he did so, a thick folder wedged under his arm. After a brief exchange with Ragnok in the strange guttural language of the goblins Bagnuk and Ragnok both turned to face him, his account manager's face clear though thunder still rumbled in his eyes. He could tell it was not directed towards him though, so Harry ignored it.

"It will not be possible to get you fully updated on your vaults in such a short amount of time, so I will be brief." The goblin said.

"The Potter family was once a rather rich family, not wealthy as the Blacks but more so than many other pureblood families. However, your father squandered that, despite your mother's attempts to stop him. James Potter gave much of what he could to Albus Dumbledore, to 'fund the war effort'." Bagnuk said, distaste evident in his voice despite his attempt to hide it.

"So my father was an idiot." Harry said. He had no memory of his father beyond the thud of his body falling to the ground, and while that inspired a sense of happiness that someone had loved him enough to die to protect him, his loathing for Dumbledore was strong and still growing. He had long ago learnt to dissociate his emotions from his thoughts, and he knew that giving money away to 'fund the war effort' was stupid. That was the government's job, wasn't it?

Bagnuk's smirk was all the answer he needed as to his thoughts on the matter.

"Luckily, your grandfather was not. He and your grandmother did not trust Dumbledore, and were equally aware of both their son's awe of the man and his irresponsibility. As such, when your father became Head of house Potter upon their deaths they specified in their will that he was not to have unrestricted access to the vaults. Until the age of 35 he would have access to 25% of the total gold, anything more would have to be approved by me. He would also be unable to sell any Potter artefacts, properties or books, or loan them to anyone outside the family. If he did so the goblins would be able to retrieve them, and we did so. We retrieved a family heirloom he had given to Dumbledore just prior to his death – an invisibility cloak.

"Your father was Head for two years, and in that time the Potter family lost over 40% of its gold. While you are still wealthy it is not to the level you once would have been, and many of the Potter properties were destroyed by Death Eaters searching for your parents. All four of the properties in Britain were destroyed, but there are several left in other countries – one in Spain, one in Italy and one in Canada. They should be habitable as the house elves that looked after them were bonded to House Potter and not to your father directly, and House Potter is clearly still alive."

Harry just nodded despite having no idea what house elves were as his account manager pulled a small box from his jacket pocket and handed it to him, continuing to speak as he did so.

"In this box is the Potter Head of House ring, and once you put it on you will be free from any magics placed upon you by anyone not of your blood without your permission, and you will have all the benefits of being the Lord of an Ancient and Noble house. You will also be exempt from the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and have full access to your vaults, unlike your father. The ring itself is a portkey to any of the Potter properties, you need only intend to use it. A portkey is a method of magical transportation," he added at the slight confusion in Harry's eyes.

The box was a dark wood with a coat of arms engraved into the lid – a shield with an ornate P in the centre, a skeletal horse on one side and a griffin on the other that both stood on their back legs, their front legs raised protectively. The ring had a large grey diamond that glittered lowly in the light seamlessly set into a simple gold band, its surface intricately etched with the same crest as on the lid.

As soon as he slid it on he felt a foreign pulse of magic spread through him causing pain to blossom in his chest, and then another stronger pulse that surged through him, a wave compared to a ripple. That was when the pain truly started. It felt like every nerve was on fire, as if every inch of flesh was being shredded and every bone was being crushed to powder. It made Vernon's best efforts seem comfortable, and he couldn't help but scream even as blood leaked from his mouth where he had bitten through his tongue.

He didn't know how long he screamed for before he fell into blissful unconsciousness, but when he awoke it was in a pristine white room with curtained partitions and uniformed goblins attending to patients. Clearly he was in the goblins' infirmary; he had never been to a hospital before despite suffering injuries that could have killed a muggle child, but he imagined they looked a lot like this.

Almost instantly there was an unfamiliar goblin at his bedside, waving its hands in complex patterns with a vacant look in their eyes. Bagnuk was stood a few steps behind watching and Harry wondered just what had happened, clearly it wasn't supposed to. After a few seconds the goblin snapped out of his trance and spoke to Bagnuk in the goblin tongue before he left swiftly, closing the curtains around Harry's bed as he did so.

As he sat up he took account of himself, not feeling the expected lingering pain from his agonised thrashing; his muscles ached but not as much as he would expect them to, his throat was not raw from screaming and his tongue was not bitten in two. There was something else different, but before he had a chance to work out what it was his account manager spoke.

"Like I said, the ring removed any magics that had been cast on you without your permission by anyone not of your blood, and there were several such spells. We found remnants of several tracking and monitoring charms as well as a connected blood ward, something that is illegal in this country, which will now be broken. What caused the pain, however, was a block on your magical core. When the block was broken your magic surged and flooded every inch of your body, stimulating every nerve and every pain receptor for however long it took for it all to recede back into your core. There is no way to tell exactly how large the block was now that it has been removed, but at a guess it is estimated to have been between 15 and 30 percent."

That explained the difference he felt, and he had to consciously control the magic that now burned in his chest and sparked in his fingertips. He hated Dumbledore, hated him almost as much as he did the Dursleys. But he pushed down the hate as he always had done until the snarl faded from his face to leave it empty, and only then did he speak.

"Will he know that they are broken?"

"Almost certainly, so I suggest you not exit in to Diagon Alley - he will surely be there. It would be wise to use your ring to portkey to one of your properties and do your shopping elsewhere or by owl order. It would not surprise me if he stationed people to look for you in Diagon Alley at all times. However, before that there is something that needs to be done first." He said as he withdrew a sheet of parchment from his jacket.

"The will of the previous Head cannot be sealed against the wishes of the current Head – you need only sign this and Dumbledore will be unable to stop the legal reading of your parents will. I _highly_ suggest you do so."

The look in Bagnuk's eyes said he knew more than he was saying but either couldn't or wouldn't say more, but that was unimportant. The fact that he was stressing his suggestion told Harry all he needed to know; Bagnuk knew exactly what was said in the will, and knew exactly why it was sealed. Without a word he took the proffered quill and awkwardly signed at the bottom of the page as he inwardly cursed at the magical world's absence of pens. The contract glowed slightly before splitting into two identical copies, both of which were pocketed by his account manager.

"One copy will be retained by Gringotts for our records, the other sent to Ministry. They will have no choice but to place it on the docket for the next session of the Wizengamot, the magical parliament, scheduled for the 15th August. The wards around each of the properties will repel any mail with tracking spells, curses or foreign portkeys which will likely be sent to you because of your status, either by Dumbledore or somebody else." Bagnuk said as he handed Harry a think looking folder.

When Harry thumbed through it each sheet of parchment was covered in lists of numbers and of jewellery descriptions, book titles and artefacts, each with an estimated value next to them.

"There is no need to visit your vault personally; every possession of the Potter family is detailed in that folder, simply send a house elf to retrieve it. If that is all, Lord Potter, you may portkey from here directly."

Harry concentrated on travelling and disappeared in swirl of colour after a thankful nod towards his account manager, crumpling to the floor as soon as his feet touched down at his destination. Slowly he pushed himself up, his neck twisting in all directions as he did so.

He was stood in a valley covered in an endless sea of spruce trees surrounding a vast lake that shone like pale glass in the early morning light, nestled between towering mountains whose tips were capped with snow even in summer. The house itself was modest; a two story cabin built from a combination of wood and stone with wide floor to ceiling windows spanning the width of the second floor and warmly glowing lamps lining the outside walls. He had no idea what the time difference was between London and Canada, but the sun was only beginning to peek over the mountains, the sound of birds starting to pierce the silence.

As soon as he took a step there was a sharp pop in front of him as the strangest looking creature he had ever seen appeared. He supposed these were the house elves Bagnuk had spoken of, and intellectually he had known that they wouldn't look normal. He had imagined the pale skin, pointed ears and flowing white hair that he had read about in muggle storybooks as a child when he hid from Dudley's goons in the library, but this house elf was far from that.

She had bulbous blue eyes that twinkled with happiness and pale green skin, her large bat like ears flapping as she bounced with excitement. She was dressed in a finely made uniform with the Potter crest proudly embroidered into the breast, easily seen against the black fabric.

"Master Harry sir, I's be Tipsy. Master James and Mistress Lily brought you's here often as a baby before you's be hiding, this was Mistress Lily's favourite place to stay. Come, come, I's be showing you around." The elf said animatedly before she turned and led the way towards the building.

The house was much as he expected; the ground floor was open plan and almost entirely wooden except for the stone fireplace in the centre that was open at both sides, a fire dancing merrily in its grate. There were bookshelves filled with children's books pushed up against the walls, comfy looking sofas huddled around a coffee table and soft rugs spread across the hardwood floors. There was a kitchen diner with granite worktops and a small table that would seat no more than four or five, and Tipsy informed him that she would be doing all the cooking. She was clearly quite insistent on that so Harry agreed, having no desire to ever cook again anyway after doing so for so many years only to get nothing but scraps.

As on the outside there were lamps placed around the walls, interspersed with picture frames whose occupants moved. Most of them were of his parents, apparently his mother had wanted to live here with him once the war was over; there was one of his parents on their wedding day, smiling adoringly at each other. There was another of his father grinning roguishly with a group of three others, their ties loose and shirts untucked while their arms were wrapped each other's shoulders. One of his mother holding him when he couldn't have been more than a few weeks old, rocking him slowly with a look of utter devotion on her face.

He spent several long minutes staring at that one as he struggled to keep himself composed.

The second floor was filled with bedrooms that were bigger than should have been possible, the whole outside wall of each made of glass so that the sun's first rays stretched across the floor. Each room was almost identical; a small desk in the corner, an expansive walk in closet and a king sized bed wedged in between a pair of bedside tables. The entire building was cosy and brought an almost tangible sense of peace, and Harry found himself relaxing more than he ever had before.

His favourite part, however, was the basement. It was expanded to at least four times what it should be and then split into two to make a potions lab and a training room with duelling dummies. Tipsy said that the building never had a basement before his parents came, but they had both wanted one. His mother was an avid potioneer, his father an auror who didn't want to slack on his training, and they both wanted somewhere to practise without having to portkey backwards and forwards between there and Britain.

By the time he had looked at everything the full effects of the day began to catch up to him and he asked Tipsy to get him as many wizarding clothes as he would need before slowly walking upstairs towards the bedrooms. He wanted to get all his Hogwarts supplies himself so that he could buy anything else that caught his attention, be it books or anything else. He would certainly need to learn what exactly his position in the magical world was, both as head of House Potter and as the Boy-Who-Lived.

As he collapsed into bed and crawled under the covers, the windows darkening automatically, he had a slight moment of pity for Hagrid before he fell into sleep's gentle embrace. Dumbledore was not going to be happy that he let him out of his sight.

 **~Scene Break~**

When he woke up the next morning Harry carried on lying in bed for almost an hour before he got up, immersing himself of waking up in a real bed with nobody shrieking at him to make their breakfast, no threats and no glares. When he eventually entered his walk in closet it was full of robes, shirts and trousers of all different colours, materials and styles as well as shoes that ranged from polished leather to dark scales, as if from a crocodile or a snake.

He dressed in what looked like more casual clothing and was pleasantly surprised when they were more comfortable than he thought they would be, far from the dress like monstrosity he had feared. Before he left he noticed a pile of books on the desk and quickly looked through them – _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, Modern Magical History, Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, An Introduction to the Mind Arts,_ as well as a handwritten book by his ancestors detailing the duties and responsibilities of the head of the family. Clearly Tipsy had gotten some books she thought he would need to read. He was starting to rather like her.

When he went downstairs the table had been enlarged and was groaning under the strain of more food than he had ever seen, everything from pancakes and bacon to croissants and cereal. There was no way he would ever be able to eat even half of it, and if Tipsy thought he could she was sadly mistaken; his body had become accustomed to eating almost nothing, trying to eat so much was impossible.

"You's be far too thin, Master Harry. You need to eat."

Harry had to restrain the warm feeling in his chest at someone actually caring about him as he slid into a chair and started eating, Tipsy glaring at him every time he slowed down. His only reference point for motherly behaviour was Petunia and he doubted the way she acted was in any way normal, but he supposed this was somewhat similar. He gorged himself until he thought he was going to explode and only then did Tipsy remove the charm that stopped him leaving with a bright smile on her face. Vaguely he wondered if she had become a psychopath after ten years of isolation, but then that wouldn't make his chances much better.

He spent the rest of the day in his room reading the books that Tipsy had gotten for him, having to take the occasional break to properly keep his anger under control. Every book spoke of _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ as if he was a legendary figure on par with Merlin himself instead of the orphaned baby he had actually been, and said something along the lines of 'what is so special about Harry Potter that enabled him to survive the Killing Curse?'. Harry thought that was a pretty obvious question: nothing. To him it was blatantly obvious that his parents had done something that kept him alive. It was certainly a lot more likely than a one year old supposedly defeating a Dark Lord that no adult wizard could beat.

He also read about Dumbledore and his defeat of Grindelwald in 1945, a very different war to the one with Voldemort. He had two copies of _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century,_ one from Britain and one from Canada. The Canadian version spoke much more about the battles between Grindelwald's armies and the armies of the various wizarding nations and the ICW. His grandfather was actually mentioned; he had been a commander in the ICWs forces and was one of the best they had.

Apparently Grindelwald had an inner circle of wizards and witches who he fought side by side with, and on the day of his defeat they had fought through several battalions of defenders before Dumbledore even entered the fray. By that point Grindelwald had likely used a significant amount of his energy while Dumbledore was fresh, and it was true that the two were well matched in terms of both power and skill. Obviously Dumbledore was going to win the duel, discounting a massive mistake on his part. Curiously the British version didn't mention that, and hardly mentioned Grindelwald's lieutenants at all.

The book on the mind arts had been very interesting and he found himself fascinated by the idea of being able to view someone's memories, but equally unnerved at the prospect of someone seeing his. The book had been very clear that Legilimency wasn't mind reading as that implied the mind was a book that could be perused at will. In truth the book compared the mind to a spider's web, where you could follow a thread from a starting point to related memories, and then follow that thread to other related memories. Each memory you viewed had to be related in some way to the next, whether it was by a person present or an emotion. He had started the basic occlumency exercises and could do them instantly; after so many years of practise at controlling his emotions until people doubted he had any the basics of occlumency were easy, withdrawing into his mind had become as natural as breathing in the darkness of his cupboard. He was going to keep practising occlumency as often as he could until it would be impossible for anyone to intrude on his mind, but he would have trouble practising Legilimency until he got to Hogwarts where there would be dozens of unprotected minds for him to practise on.

 _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ had also been rather interesting as he traced his family back for centuries, though it had stopped abruptly in around 1350. Tipsy had brought him a family book from his vault that showed everything though, and he understood why the line had suddenly stopped. The Potter family had not properly existed before then. It had been a union between the last of the Peverell and Gryffindor lines, two families that were infamous for very different reasons, but both wanted to escape the notoriety. So when they married they faked their own deaths and changed their name to Potter so that no one came after the family they had created. That was why his house crest had both a thestral and a griffin on; the thestral was the emblem of the Peverell family and the griffin was the emblem of the Gryffindor family.

But most of his day had been spent on reading his ancestors detailing his responsibilities as head of House Potter. It seemed it had been written in by almost every head for centuries so some of the details were likely outdated, so he focussed on the writings of his great grandfather, his grandfather and his father. He had spent several minutes staring at his father's handwriting, despite his anger at the way he gave away what his ancestors had worked so hard for. The book detailed the workings of the Wizengamot, the countless traditions he would be required to follow, the laws that would benefit him and what he could expect from the heads of other families, even the way he should speak. The book was a goldmine of information and he would have to learn as much as he could before the Wizengamot session.

The next few days carried on much the same way and he had sent Tipsy to Gringotts to tell Bagnuk that he had free reign to make investments with his gold as long as they made money. The goblins got a percentage of any profits they made from investments so he was confident Bagnuk would invest well, and he wanted to regain everything that his father had given away. It was a matter of pride for him that he had to be better than everyone who had come before him.

There had been so many letters arriving that they formed a mound beneath the window, and he was sure if not for the wards there would have been many more. Tipsy insisted that she go through them all before he opened them, and he had told her to burn all the marriage contracts sent to him. He knew about marriage contracts from his ancestor's book, but he had assumed that the magical world would have moved on by now. Evidently not.

When all of those and all the mail from random people were gone there was very little left; the Daily Prophet, a letter from Dumbledore that told he was being 'very irresponsible' and that he should return to the Dursleys immediately, trying to use his position as magical guardian to command him as if he didn't know that he was emancipated. There were several requests for interviews which he ignored, a letter from the Ministry informing that his presence was required at the Wizengamot meeting and another one from a Remus Lupin saying much the same that Dumbledore had. Tipsy said he was one of the men in the photo with his father and Harry had to control his anger at finding out that one of them was alive and yet had left him to live with _them_.

Tipsy had said that one of the other men in the picture was his godfather, Sirius Black, who was in Azkaban for betraying his parents, but that didn't fit with what he saw in the picture. The other man though, Peter Tipsy said he was called, gave Harry a shifting feeling in his gut. There was something about the way his eyes darted around and the look on his face when he looked at his father that set off alarm bells in his head.

Harry quickly got bored of reading and decided he wanted to start learning magic, so four days after his arrival in Canada he was walking down the magical high street in Ottawa looking for somewhere to get a wand. The high street was far from the cobbled streets and crooked storefronts of Diagon Alley, yet still had the same almost otherwordly feel. The ground was smooth stone slabs and the storefronts were just as would be seen in the muggle world, only these had broomsticks and cauldrons in the windows instead of t-shirts and record players.

He had already done much of his shopping for Hogwarts, calling Tipsy every so often to take his purchases home. He already had robes and the potions lab in the basement had cauldrons, phials and scales so much of his time had spent in the bookshop. It was relatively easy to find all the books on the list, but when he read through them they all seemed terribly easy, as if he had read them all before. He had wandered through the shelves for several hours picking up books that interested him but he didn't buy that many; he hadn't looked through the list of books in his vault yet.

It didn't take him all that long to find a wand shop and he entered to see rows upon rows of mismatched boxes on shelves, wands scattered haphazardly across the counter behind which an old man stood. His face was wrinkled with great age, his skin seeming to be melting off him like candle wax, but his eyes were as sharp as a man's could be. His head was covered by the barest wisp of white hair that looked like it would fly away in a slight breeze, a friendly smile on his face as he looked up.

"Looking for a wand lad?" The man asked with far more vigour in his voice than would be expected from a man of his age.

"Yes sir,"

"Ah, British I see. Come all the way over here to get the best wand I suppose. Smart of you lad, very smart. Ollivander, very good wandmaker but so very unambitious. Only uses three cores you see, so many possible cores and he only uses three! I imagine many a wizard has left his shop with a finely made wand that is not perfect for them. The wand chooses the wizard after all."

The man clapped his hands suddenly and bounded out from behind the counter, a tape measure zipping across the cramped shop into his hand.

"Now, which is your wand arm?" he asked jovially.

"I'm ambidextrous, sir,"

"O-ho, it's been so very long since I fit a wand for an ambidextrous wizard. Slightly trickier but so very enjoyable. And none of that sir nonsense, my boy! I'm no sir, just call me Herb." he said as the tape measure twisted and coiled to take every concieveable measurement, ranging from the length of his leg to the distance between his eyes.

"Now, try this. 12 inches, walnut, dragon heartstring."

As soon as Harry held it there was a loud bang that echoed through the shop and the old wizard snatched it back.

"Pear and phoenix feather, 13 inches." The wand was snatched back before it even touched Harry's palm.

"No, no, no," Herb muttered to himself as he rooted through the shelves, "Ebony and runespoor fang, 14 inches, rigid."

Harry felt a slight tingle when he held before it died and the wandmaker took it back, an excited smile on his face as he shoved another wand into Harry's hands.

It felt like he had been there for hours, the pile of tested wands now almost to his knees. The excitement at getting a wand had faded the more wands he tried without success, but the wandmaker seemed to have the exact opposite reaction. He was like a kid in a candy shop, excitedly bouncing around the shop and thrusting wands towards him. Harry was surprised the old man hadn't had a heart attack.

"I wonder, it would be unusual yes but…" He mused quietly before he disappeared into the back of the shop, walking straight past the shelves that were markedly emptier than they had been when Harry entered. A few minutes later he returned with several boxes in his arms which he placed delicately onto the counter.

"These are my experiments, rarer woods and rarer wand cores. All very powerful wands, never thought I'd get the chance to sell one. But the wand chooses the wizard after all, and you are a mighty tricky wizard. Maybe we'll get lucky." He said with a slight chuckle.

"Yew and manticore stinger, 13 inches." The old wizard said softly.

No reaction. The same followed for the next three wands until there was only one wand left, the wandmakers gaze flitting rapidly between it and Harry.

"If this wand chooses you, dear boy, then I will die a happy man. My greatest creation and one that would make other wandmakers green with envy should they know I created such a masterpiece. There were four great wandmakers on the continent, you see, all with their favourite cores. Wolfe's was thunderbird feather, Jonker's was wampus cat hair, Quintana's was white river monster and Beauvais' was hair of the rougarou. They all died, their children either unskilled in the craft or unwilling to take it up, and even now their wands are highly sought after. I was always jealous of the reputation they had when I thought myself just as skilled, so I aimed to combine two of the cores used by the four great wandmakers; a foolish endeavour that nearly killed me several times, but I was stubborn and would not give up. I finally succeeded with this wand, my greatest triumph."

The man actually had tears in his eyes as he spoke, gazing at the wand as if it were a piece of divinity. Delicately he plucked it from its box and held it reverently between his fingers before he extended his arm towards Harry.

"Cherry, 13 and a half inches, inflexible, with a core of wampus cat hair and thunderbird tail feather." He whispered.

As soon as Harry held it he knew it was the one, could feel it singing in his palm as his magic raced through his body. The room lit up by a brilliant flash of pale blue light and when he blinked the stars out of his vision the old wandmakers was smiling joyously though his eyes held a hint of sadness, as if watching a child leave home.

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely, still staring at the wand in his palm, "How much do I owe you?"

"It was my pleasure, dear boy. I have seen my greatest work choose its mate, a sight I never thought I would see. I know not how much such a wand should cost, but I will happily accept 350 galleons for the wand, my finest wand holster and a wand care kit; such a wand should be kept in perfect condition."

Harry nodded and the old wizard withdrew a piece of parchment from under the counter and scribbled a few details on it before he spun it around to face Harry, placing the wand holster and the wand care kit beside it. Few people carried that much gold with them at any one time, so it was generally accepted that for large transactions the purchaser would give over their vault number and the gold would be transferred directly, or in the case of Head of House the ring was be used.

"I do hope you will keep my identity a secret," Harry said as his ring appeared with a thought and he pressed it against the parchment, his house crest being printed onto the parchment. Herb clearly recognised it as he gaped slightly at Harry who allowed himself a small smirk in reply before he grabbed the wand care kit and holster before leaving, slipping his wand into the holster and strapping it to his forearm as he did so. As soon as he was out of the shop he turned into a side alley and used his ring to portkey home, leaving a still shocked wandmaker.

His shock soon left him and he began to chuckle, which then turned in to a great wheezing laugh.

"You have a great and arduous destiny, dear boy," he murmured to himself, "I wish you good luck, Harry Potter."

 **~Scene Break~**

For the next two weeks Harry spent as much time as he could practising magic in the basement. He loved magic. Every time he cast a spell he could feel it race down his arm and it gave him a sense of euphoria. It was an intoxicating feeling. He found that he could cast almost all the spells within a few tries and after that he could do it perfectly without even concentrating on what the proper wand movement or incantation was, like he had done a thousand times before. He had read in one of the books that it was possible to cast spells silently, but he found it much more difficult. He kept trying though, especially after he managed to cast _lumos_ silently after nearly a week of trying; casting silently was far quicker than saying the incantation.

He got bored of doing the same unexciting spells from the first year book over and over again after a while and sent Tipsy to get a few other books from the vault that he thought he might be able to do at least parts of, as well as books on runes and arithmancy which formed the bases of rituals, wards and spell creation, three areas Harry found himself rather interested in. Potions, on the other hand, he didn't like. He knew his mother had loved it but he found it incredibly dull, like the magical version of cooking only with far less margin for error. He wasn't bad at it though, he didn't plan to be bad at anything, but he just had no passion for it.

He was by no means neglecting his studies in the mind arts or his position as head of House Potter though. He had no desire to embarrass himself or go against any traditions when he exposed himself; that would only cause more problems down the line. He was advancing quickly with his Occlumency, and had already started creating his mindscape. The book said that as his mindscape improved his memory and his recall would get better and better, and that it could be anything. His was the cabin, and he had used the large outside windows as extra doors. It didn't have to obey the laws of the real world, so he figured that if it looked like a window then nobody would think to walk through it. He had also made several rudimentary barriers that he improved and strengthened daily; they weren't very strong and wouldn't hold up to any major assault, but they would stop anyone from scanning his surface thoughts. They also enabled him to control his emotions even more tightly, something that he didn't really need help with. There was a reason the children at school had called him a robot.

Before long it was the morning of the Wizengamot session and Harry dressed himself in his finest robes, the Potter ring proudly shown on his finger. He was far from the skinny boy who had arrived thanks to Tipsy's cooking and the nutritional potions she slipped into his drink without him knowing, but he could do nothing about his hair, it would always retain its messy look that he shared with his father. The scar that had once looked to be only days old had faded to a near unnoticeable line and he no longer had to wear glasses thanks to a very expensive potion that had fixed his eyesight, but he thought it was worth it.

It was too far for Tipsy to be able to pop him over, so he had requested a portkey to a private area. He doubted it would be private, the Boy-Who-Lived coming out into the public view was sure to bring the Ministry a lot of publicity that he doubted they would be willing to miss out on. He would probably get ambushed by screaming reporters and cameramen. Either that or by Dumbledore – he would rather the reporters.

With a final muttered _tempus_ charm Harry raised every one of his mental barriers as his neutral mask slid onto his face and he grabbed onto the quill he had been sent, disappearing seconds later.

 **AN: Sorry for any errors in this but I have no beta as of yet.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He had been right that the Ministry wouldn't keep it private, but he was also rather relieved that they had gone for the public spectacle with him appearing in the middle of the atrium; he had no desire to deal with Dumbledore until he absolutely had to. The camera flashes and shouted questions assaulted him instantly and he struggled to understand a single one in the cacophony of voices as he blinked the white from his eyes. After a few seconds the noise died down slightly and he was just about able to begin to pick out what people were saying, though they became silent when he raised a hand slightly.

"I'll take three questions, and then I've got a meeting to get to," he said, a friendly smile plastered across his face.

He had thought long and hard about how he was going to act today, weighing his options and how they would affect him both now and later. He was going to act friendly and open when he could, with reporters especially, but in the Wizengamot chambers he was going to become more mature and calculating. First impressions mattered, and if the newspapers spoke badly of him from the start then he was going to have a lot of trouble later. At the same time though he had to show he wasn't going to bow to the wishes of anyone else, otherwise they would treat him as a child and dismiss everything he said. It was going to be a delicate balancing act.

"Mr Potter, Mr Potter, where have you been all these years?"

"That is a topic I don't want to talk about, a very long story. Maybe one day I'll tell it, but not now."

"Mr Potter, why have you decided to unseal your parents' will?" another reporter shouted.

"Because from what I've read I could find no real reason it was ever sealed in the first place, and certainly no reason for it to remain sealed for over a decade."

"But Albus Dumbledore was the one who sealed the will, your magical guardian. Why would he seal it if not for your benefit?" One reporter asked, her concerned tone contrasting sharply against the wicked gleam in her eyes behind jewelled glasses.

"I don't know, that's what I want to find out. But tell me, miss, if Albus Dumbledore was my magical guardian why had I heard of neither him nor the magical world before my Hogwarts letters came?"

With that he walked away towards the elevators with his friendly expression still on his face, the crowd parting to let him through automatically. Inwardly he was smirking with malicious glee; Dumbledore was in trouble now, regardless of what the will said. He was alone in the elevator as he descended down to the Wizengamot chambers and he allowed his shoulders to drop slightly as he prepared himself for seeing Dumbledore for the first time, tightening his hold over his anger and his nervousness so that he would outwardly appear completely calm.

When the doors slid open his shoulders were straight and his mask was firmly in place as he strode through the wide wooden doors. The chambers were exactly as his ancestors had described in the book; a single chair in the centre of the room with chains coiled around the arms like serpents, tiers of seating up every inch of wall that was split into levels. The bottom level was for visitors and reporters, the second was for the elected representatives, the third reserved for the Noble houses that had served the country well and had been rewarded for it. The fourth level was used solely for the Chief Warlock, Minister for Magic, his undersecretary, the court clerk and the head of the DMLE. The fifth level seated the Ancient houses, and the top level seated the houses of Ancient and Noble status.

The lower tiers were made up of uncomfortable wooden benches, and the comfort of their accommodations increased the further up you went. The top tier had comfortable leather armchairs with the house crest emblazoned on the backrest, elegant wooden desks with parchment and silver tipped quills on top and enough leg room that he could lay flat and have room to spare. Harry was sure that Dumbledore had tried to have someone sit in the Potter seat at some point, but to do so they would either have had to have the head of house ring on their finger or be appointed proxy by someone who did.

As he ascended the stops towards the Harry had to resist the urge to glare hatefully at Dumbledore, either that or punch him – he didn't know many curses yet, certainly none that were bad enough that he thought them deserving of Dumbledore. He was just thankful he didn't have to wear those hideous plum coloured robes; only those on the fourth level had to do that.

As expected he received many assessing looks and thinly veiled glares as he walked in but he ignored them all, opting to sit silently in his chair until the session started. Unfortunately his parents will was the last thing on the docket, so he would have to sit through the rest of it first. He was in a state of awe at the sheer unimportance of what they were debating; honestly, who cares if cauldron bottoms are half an inch thick or five eighths of an inch thick? He was planning on passing this duty off as soon as he found someone suitable to be appointed his proxy, he did not like politics.

There were a few more important issues that were brought up, werewolves and muggleborn rights among them. On those he followed the lead of the Grey faction for his voting, even if he wasn't particularly well versed in what he was actually voting about. The Wizengamot was split into the Light, the Grey and the Dark factions, and he wanted to make it clear from the off that he didn't agree with the Light. He had read about each faction and how they generally voted on certain issues when he was preparing, and some of what the light voted for he thought was pure stupidity. What good could possibly come from being more lenient with the Statute of Secrecy and allowing muggleborns to practise magic in urban areas? He knew enough to know that the muggles would either see them as a threat and start a war or they would experiment on them in an attempt to replicate magic. In his experience muggles had been vicious and uncaring, he was sure that one of those two outcomes would come true should muggles find out about the magical world. But then the dark faction would generally prefer to rule over the muggles so they were just as idiotic.

Finally, after nearly three hours his parents will was all that was left to do.

"Reading of the will of James and Lily Potter, Lord and Lady of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter."

"Now, Harry-" Dumbledore said before he was cut off.

"Lord Potter." Harry cut in sharply, his voice and his face carefully controlled to stop any hate bleeding through.

"Ah, yes, Lord Potter, do you think it wise to unseal your parents will? There may be information in there which could be very harmful if it got out. I had it sealed for your own protection." He said, his grandfatherly act and twinkling eyes out in full force.

"Harmful to you or harmful to me, Chief Warlock? I am curious as to how it could be harmful to be now, especially as my parents would surely have thought of whether it would endanger me when they wrote it. I don't suppose you know what it says?"

Members of all factions watched on in undisguised interest as the Boy-Who-Lived backed Dumbledore into a corner. If he attempted to stop the reading again he would be showing everyone that there was something in there he wanted to hide, even more so than he already had. Dumbledore sighed slightly as he motioned for the will to be read, knowing that he would more than likely be able to talk his way out of any significant damage to his reputation. He would still take a hit though.

The clerk cleared his throat slightly and the murmuring around the room died down instantly before he began reading the will, the attention of everyone present purely on him.

" _I, James Charlus Potter and I, Lily Evans Potter, being of sound mind and magic do hereby declare this to be our final will and testament, all previous wills now voided._

 _We do herby leave the entirety of our estate, including all properties, books and artefacts, to our son Harry James Potter._

 _If this will is being read then Peter Pettigrew, our secret keeper, has betrayed us and told our location to Voldemort._

 _In the event of our deaths Harry's guardianship is to go to, in order:  
Sirius Black, Harry's sworn godfather, and wife if he has married.  
Frank and Alice Longbottom, Harry's sworn godmother.  
Andromeda and Ted Tonks.  
Amelia Bones and husband, if she has married._

 _Under NO circumstances is Harry to be placed with Petunia Dursley née Evans."_ The clerk finished.

The room burst into chaos, all sides shouting denials and accusations towards the other. Several times someone called for silence but there was no response, not until a boom echoed through the room. All heads turned to the Boy-Who-Lived, who was stood looking utterly emotionless except for the white grip on his wand that glowed slightly.

"I am going to say this once. I want to know why the express wishes of my parents were ignored, I want to know where exactly the harmful information Dumbledore spoke of is, and I want to know how my godfather was sent to prison for a crime he didn't commit. I want Sirius Black in this room within twenty minutes for a trial, because clearly you didn't bother last time otherwise he wouldn't have been put in Azkaban." He said, his voice eerily calm for the very clear anger he was feeling.

Harry was livid. Never in his life had he been this angry, not even close. Dumbledore knew. He exactly what was in that will and he had dumped him with the Dursleys anyway, and then sent his godfather to prison to make sure he stayed there. Harry didn't know why he had done it, but he didn't care right then either.

A platinum haired man stood up a few levels below Harry, a cane clasped in his manicured hand.

"Now, now, let us not be too hasty. Clearly this Will must simply be out of date at the time of their deaths, and the Potters must have recast the Fidelius charm with Black as the secret keeper. Our own esteemed Chief Warlock testified against Black, I can't believe he would have any reason to lie." The man spoke, his voice smooth and oily. Several men were nodding at his words, though they appeared like dogs nodding at their master's command.

Harry recognised him, of course. Lucius Malfoy, a death eater who bought his way out of prosecution and who was married to one of the Black sisters. His son was the only other possible heir for the head of House Black, and clearly Lucius wanted it. Harry quickly grappled with his anger until he could control it, even if only barely.

"Tell me, Lord Malfoy, are you not biased in this matter? If Sirius Black were to be found innocent your son would likely lose his claim to the Headship of House Black. I do hope you are not attempting to keep an innocent man in prison so that your son can claim a position, such a thing would be below the _Noble_ House of Malfoy." Harry replied smoothly, deliberately emphasising the Malfoy family's lower status. He was in control enough that he didn't accuse him outright now – very close to it, but not quite.

Many more heads nodded at Harry's words and an auror was quickly dispatched to fetch Black from Azkaban, all the while Dumbledore looked like he had swallowed a lemon and Malfoy looked apoplectic. Harry rewarded him with a slightly mocking smile when they locked eyes, the man nearly frothing at the mouth. A man a few seats down from his own, Greengrass Harry thought his name was, leant forwards slightly and gave him a small nod, an action that Harry returned.

It didn't take long for Sirius to be dragged in and thrown into the chair, the chains instantly slithering around his arms. His skin was dirty and stretched grotesquely over bone without a hint of muscle or fat, his long hair knotted and tangled. The man looked half dead until he finally realised where he was, and then he looked like Christmas had come early.

"Finally giving me my trial, are you? Only took you ten years," he croaked with a small laugh, his voice holding a hint of madness but not the insanity that would be expected from being exposed to dementors for a decade. Harry had read about them when he looked into Sirius a bit more, and they sounded like hellish manifestations of misery. He had spent a decade with animals; Sirius had spent that time with demons.

"Sirius Orion Black, do you consent to the use of Veritaserum?" Madam Bones asked far more softly than she usually would. He was obviously innocent, the trial was just a formality at this point.

"Go ahead," Sirius replied cheerfully, and Harry wondered just what effect Azkaban had had on his mind, or whether he had always been like this.

He winked at her as she approached and readily opened his mouth allowing her to place three drops of the potion on his tongue, his eyes clouding over almost instantly.

"What is your name?"

"Sirius Orion Black." He replied in a monotone.

"When were you born?"

"3rd November 1959."

Satisfied that the serum was working properly, Madam Bones started on the questioning.

"Who was the Potter's secret keeper?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Did you kill Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles?"

"No, I gave Harry to Hagrid and went after him. Peter blew up the gas line, cut off his finger, transformed into his animagus form and escaped into the sewers."

"Hah, Pettigrew wasn't an animagus. He's lying!" A man with a toothbrush moustache shouted triumphantly from the stands, and Harry had to resist the urge to groan loudly. Obviously he just hadn't registered his form; Harry certainly wasn't planning on doing so when he learnt to become an animagus. Were all wizards this stupid?

Madam Bones ignored the man, causing his face to redden in anger.

"What was Peter Pettigrew's animagus form?"

"A rat."

With that she went to pry Sirius's jaw open to give him the antidote, but Harry interrupted.

"Can I ask him a question?"

He knew it wasn't regular or normally allowed, but he hoped she would allow it this time. Maybe his status could come in useful at least once. After a few seconds of thought she nodded, though she kept the phial of antidote raised. Her message was clear: he got one question and one question only.

"Who cast the Fidelius charm?"

"I don't know."

As Sirius was given the antidote, his eyes clearing quickly though the slight waver of madness remained, Harry cursed inwardly to himself. He was sure it was Dumbledore who had cast it, and if he had that would have been the proof he needed to prove that the old man put Sirius in Azkaban when he knew he was innocent. The charm was complicated and what he had read didn't make much sense to him yet, but from what he could tell it required a lot of power to cast, and that made Dumbledore the likely suspect. Unfortunately Dumbledore was too well respected and too influential for him to accuse and any damage to his reputation done today would likely slide right off. It was infuriating.

"Sirius Orion Black, you are hereby cleared off all charges. The Ministry will issue reparations of 100,000 galleons for each year you were falsely imprisoned. This session is now closed." Dumbledore said, barely able to keep the annoyance out of his voice. All his carefully laid plans were falling to pieces.

As the murmuring started anew and people started to leave Harry walked slowly down the steps towards Sirius whose eyes lit up at the sight of him. The man started to babble slightly and moved to cling to him, but he quickly headed him off. He wasn't comfortable with people touching him. Sirius looked momentarily hurt before he seemed to realise Harry didn't actually remember him.

"Come on, Sirius. You're going to come back with me; it probably isn't smart to go to St Mungos before the announcement that you're innocent has been out a few days." He said, his welcoming mask back in place. From his reaction it was clear that Sirius would have taken him in if he could have, so Harry figured that maybe he would let him in on a few things about his life. He would need an adult at some point in dealing with Dumbledore, and having the Black family reputation behind him could certainly be useful.

As soon as the two of them appeared back in Canada Harry told Tipsy to get Sirius some proper food before he retreated to his room and locked the door behind him. The constant strain of controlling his raging emotions had been trying, and he didn't know how he was supposed to act around Sirius. He didn't know how to act around any adult, never mind the man who would have raised him had he not been sent to prison without a trial.

Sirius watched him walk away dejectedly, wondering just what had happened to him to make him like he was. He had seen the way the mask fell off his face as soon as the portkey dropped them on the grass to show confusion and more potent anger than Sirius had ever seen, yet he would have believed the friendly expression on his face before was real had he not seen what was underneath. Not even the children of the most severe pureblood families had masks that flawless at age eleven.

The sad smile on Tipsy's face as she floated plates of food onto the table told him she had little idea either.

As expected the Daily Prophet the next morning was filled with every detail to do with Harry, including quotes of his verbal sparring with both Malfoy and Dumbledore. It said that Harry had known nothing of Dumbledore or the magical world before his letters, and then said how he had attempted to persuade him not to unseal the will that proved Sirius Black's innocence. Clearly Harry had made a good impression on the reporters, and he smirked slightly when he read it; Dumbledore would be in even more trouble than he would have expected. There were few things people loved more than their heroes, but one of them was tearing those heroes down.

For the next few days Harry acted politely when he was around Sirius but offered little opportunity for him to actually talk to him, something that aggravated the man no end. How was he supposed to involve himself in his godson's life if Harry showed no indication of wanting him there? He just spent all his time reading or practising magic, performing spells Sirius remembered struggling with in second year as if he had cast them a thousand times before.

The only time he spoke to him beyond pleasantries was to tell him they were going to the magical hospital in Ottawa; Harry needed to have his vaccinations for magical illnesses and Sirius needed to be assessed after so long in Azkaban. There was no point going all the way back to Britain to go to St Mungos, and now that the news of Sirius's innocence had broken they would not be in danger of being cursed.

When Tipsy popped them into the hospital they got their fair share of looks as they walked past but no one moved to their wands, in fact they received several respectful nods as they made their way towards the desk. It was far from the reaction they would have received in Britain, thankfully.

Sirius was the first to be seen as any problems he could have from his incarceration in Azkaban could be serious, much more pressing than a few vaccinations. Physically he was in a bad place with weak bones, malnourishment and several infections that his magic had been working hard to keep at bay, but a lot of it could be fixed with potions. He would have to see a mind healer but his psyche was nowhere near as badly affected as would have been expected. He likely wouldn't need to see them for long, and it would be more dealing with his guilt over the Potters' deaths than his stay in Azkaban.

It was when it came to Harry that things became more difficult.

"Right," the healer said, "We'll just run a few scans to make sure you don't already have any infections or injuries that need to be dealt with and then we'll vaccinate you."

"I don't need a scan. Just do the vaccinations." Harry said, and Sirius was surprised with the forcefulness in his tone and the slight flash of _something_ across his eyes before he hid it.

The healer frowned momentarily before comprehension dawned on him and he quickly herded Sirius out of the room. When he made to protest and push his way back in the healer held him in place with a firm hand and insistent look.

"Legally he is an adult, regardless of his age. You can't be in there unless he gives permission, and I doubt he will want you in there for this. Now stay here and wait." He said before he closed the door and locked it behind him. Sirius couldn't get in even if he wanted to; his wand had been snapped and he hadn't got a new one yet.

The door remained closed for over an hour until Harry emerged and stalked straight past Sirius, disappearing by portkey before he had a chance to even say a word. When Sirius looked back towards the healer the man had a mixture of sadness and anger marring his features, a piece of parchment clutched in his hand.

"Look, I really shouldn't be doing this," he said as he handed over the parchment, "but it looks like you're going to be one of the few or maybe the only adult in that kid's life. You are going to need to know even if he doesn't want you to."

Sirius's eyes widened when he saw what the parchment said, his fists clenching hard enough to rip through. Weak and broken bones that hadn't been set properly, a multitude of scars, herniated spinal discs and poorly healed muscles and tendons, and that was just the physical effects. It certainly explained his behaviour. Harry had been abused. Sirius had to fight the impulse to get a portkey back to Britain to kill the Dursleys; at least he would deserve Azkaban this time. But his temper and need for revenge had been what put Harry in that situation in the first place, a thought that brought a tidal wave of self-hatred crashing over him.

Sirius's mother had slapped him every so often, his father had used moderate pain curses but never had they done it as often or as viciously as what Harry's injuries showed. What about all the times when it hadn't left a permanent injury and the bruise had faded away to leave no indication? Sirius had been eleven when it started and he had ran away five years later, most of which he had spent at Hogwarts. Harry had suffered from his first memories and had done so every day for a decade.

"Luckily none of the bones were set poorly enough that they needed to vanished and regrown, otherwise he would have had to stay in overnight. I did have to break them and then join them properly so now his bones are good as new, though they are still weak. The potions will take care of that fairly quickly though. I also fixed his spinal disks, a much easier thing to do with magic than without. The only reason he agreed to let me even scan him was that I said it could cause severe problems later on if it went unchecked, he was adamant that he was fine before that. The scars can be removed, but with great difficulty. There's so many and some are so deep that we would have to cut half the flesh from his back and then regrow it. It's hardly worth the effort and the pain that it would cause.

"I'll get you the potions he'll need and write down when he needs to take them and for how long. Give all that to the house elf, they'll make sure he takes them. A word of advice though; don't push him. All that will happen is that he will close off even more."

A few minutes Sirius left with a rack full of potions in hand, trying to work out how he was going to act from then on. There wasn't even an option for act as he had before, that was clearly getting him nowhere. He doubted the fun uncle position would work either, Harry had probably never joked or pranked in his life. In the end he figured he would have to be a strange combination of caring and detached. Harry wouldn't know how to deal with affection at all, it would just confuse him, and being overbearing was going to push him away. After so many years he was probably so used to looking out for himself that he didn't want anyone else doing it for him.

When Tipsy apparated Sirius back into the cabin Harry was already locked in his room, as expected. Merlin knew what was going through his head, especially as he likely knew that the healer would have told Sirius. For the rest of the day there was no sign of Harry and Tipsy had to take his food to him in his room because he refused to leave. It wasn't until dinner the next day that he came down, refusing to even look in Sirius's direction.

"Did you take your potions?" Sirius asked.

Harry nodded stiffly and braced himself for the inevitable 'are you okay?' and push to talk about his childhood. Why did they need to talk about it? They both already knew, what was the point in reliving it? But the questions never came. Sirius just went back to his food, and Harry's estimation of him rose slightly. Maybe he wasn't the man child he had thought him to be.

When dinner ended and Tipsy appeared and began clearing everything away Sirius pushed himself from the table and wandered towards the sofas. Harry didn't actually know what the man really did with himself during the day, but slowly he followed and sat on a chair away from Sirius and cautiously asked about his parents. He wanted to know about them but he barely knew Sirius so asking felt strange, but he would need to let Sirius in at some point.

For the next few hours Harry sat quietly while Sirius recounted stories of the pranks and the chaos that the marauders had caused in their youth. As he spoke the slight haunted look that had been ever present in his eyes seemed to vanish to be replaced by fond reminiscence, but it would return every time he stopped and the pain and guilt that was etched into the lines of his face seemed to grow each time. Living in the happiness of the past truly was one of life's kindest curses, and Harry felt momentarily thankful that he remembered little of his life before Voldemort attacked. Doing so would only have made the years he spent at the Dursleys that much more torturous.

For the next few days the routine in the cabin stayed basically the same; Harry would practise magic and read, then in the evening he would listen to stories about his parents. There wasn't much about his mother, Sirius had only really got to know her beyond the love of James's life during sixth and seventh year, but there was a lot about his father. Harry managed to read between the lines to work out his father was arrogant and especially harsh towards a particular Slytherin called Snape, but from the way Sirius described Snape's retaliations he was the better one between the two. Apparently Snape had put his father in the hospital wing for a week with a vicious cutting curse because his father had embarrassed him at dinner. Snape was the head of Slytherin house at Hogwarts, so that was one house Harry was going to avoid.

Harry had also shown Sirius the letter he had gotten from Remus Lupin which set the man off in a foul mouthed rant against both Lupin and Dumbledore with several words that even Harry had never heard before, despite Vernon's offensive and often racist remarks. Apparently Lupin was a werewolf and tended to blame every misfortune on his condition, and he also hero worshipped Dumbledore even more than James had for allowing him to attend Hogwarts. Harry thought the man sounded pathetic.

Sirius had also taken up the headship of House Black and was often hard at work sorting the investments and contracts out; many of the Black's investments were in less than savoury businesses so Sirius was withdrawing from all those and investing in other businesses, seeming to take an inordinate amount of joy from making his parents turn in their graves. He had also gotten a new wand from the same man Harry had got his, a 13 inch long Fir wand with a heartstring from a Hungarian Horntail at its core. He had come back from the shop extremely curious about Harry's wand, apparently the wandmaker had made several strange and vague references to him, but Harry had remained silent about it. He didn't plan on telling anyone he had such a powerful wand.

Before long it was time for Harry to head Hogwarts and Sirius had bought a house in Britain so he could be closer, something that made Harry feel that funny warm feeling in his chest again. He could have moved into his childhood home but Sirius was adamant he would never set foot in that house again for any reason, so on September 1st they took a portkey to the house in Yorkshire and then Sirius apparated him straight to the apparition point at Kings Cross. Harry had been learning to apparate himself and probably could have apparated there himself, but Sirius didn't know he could and he didn't want to put up with the scalding for doing it without someone supervising. He found it easy anyway, and he remembered doing it by accident when he was younger.

As it was everyone present stopped to stare at the two of them as soon as they arrived and Harry was rather thankful for the slightly fearful looks Sirius was getting; clearly the British witches and wizards were stupid enough that they hadn't worked out he hadn't killed anyone despite the fact that the entire trial had been quoted in the Daily Prophet. It meant far less people would try and talk to him at least. He certainly looked nothing like the pale, skeletal man that had been dragged into the Wizengamot chambers. The potions he had been given and the consistent food had done wonders and he now looked much like how a Lord of a powerful family should, though his face had yet to lose its gaunt look.

Harry was of course getting his fair share of stares which he ignored as he made his way onto the train and found an empty compartment, his trunk and empty owl cage shrunken inside his pockets. Sirius had bought a beautiful pure black owl for him so they could write, though he had made it clear that it didn't have to be everyday or even all that often; he was being careful not to push and to move at whatever pace Harry set, and now he was starting to see him as someone he actively wanted in his life rather than someone who could come in useful and nothing more. He had named her Kara, and Sirius was going to let her fly to Hogwarts instead of being caged in a train for seven hours. Harry didn't know why he had to spend seven hours on a train when apparition was almost instant, but apparently it was tradition and he had to. Personally Harry thought it was stupid.

He slid the door closed and locked it with a few careful flicks of his wand before he pulled a book of offensive and defensive spells and got himself comfortable as more families arrived at the station. He and Sirius had come earlier in an attempt to avoid the media and as much of the staring as they could, but now he would have to wait for longer. He contented himself with the fact that few people would be bothering him during the ride though; he had learnt several locking charms in preparation, none of which could be countered with a simple unlocking charm. A fifth or six year would probably be able to break it, but he doubted they would be the ones bothering him.

Harry barely noticed when the train started moving, too engrossed in his book and unconsciously mimicking the wand movements with his free hand to realise. He stayed that way for nearly an hour until there was an irritating knocking noise, and when he looked up he saw a red headed boy with his nose pressed up against the glass as he tapped sharply. It reminded Harry of Dudley when they visited the zoo before he had set the snake loose.

When the boy realised Harry had noticed him he started banging even more insistently, clearly unable to work out that the locking charm was there because he didn't want to be disturbed. Harry just raised an eyebrow slightly before he returned to his book, ignoring the boy despite his increasingly loud knocks. After a few minutes he gave up and walked off in a huff and Harry sighed slightly in relief; the boy had been getting steadily more annoying with every second he stayed. He really should have learnt the silencing charm, but it just hadn't been as appealing as the other spells.

For the next few hours Harry was left in blissful peace during which time he nearly finished his book. He thought he could probably cast several of the spells now, though not easily and not perfectly. He was certainly better than first year but most of the spells in the book were fourth or fifth year at least so he wasn't too disheartened that he knew he would be unable to cast most of them. He would be able to try them once he found a place to practise again.

But then suddenly the quiet was shattered by another knock, this one a single brutish bang. He looked up and saw a thin, pale skinned boy with his blonde hair slicked back and a sneer filled with indignant anger on his face, flanked on either side by two hulking boys with dim faces and slouched backs. He absently wondered if they had any troll in their blood, it would explain a lot. He recognised the leader instantly, or at least who his father was - Lucius Malfoy's son, Draco he remembered vaguely, and he removed the locking charm with a flick of his wand. This would be entertaining, and it would be preferable to get this confrontation out of the way before they got to Hogwarts.

As soon as he did so Malfoy strode in self-importantly and scowled at Harry while his two bodyguards came in behind him, cracking their fists in a poor attempt to look menacing. Harry found it more amusing than anything else.

"You, Potter!"

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" he said, deliberately sounding bored as his eyes dipped back to his book.

"You may have gotten that blood traitor released from Azkaban, but you are still nothing compared to me. I am a Malfoy, my father is the Minister's most trusted advisor and I am the Heir to House Black, and you are just the son of a filthy mudblood!"

He actually looked proud of himself at first, but then his smirk dropped when Harry gave no other reaction than a polite smile.

"Yes, my mother was a muggleborn. How very perceptive of you, Mr Malfoy. I am going to ignore your error and rudeness in adressing me this time, but I will not do so in the future. But allow me to correct your facts before you leave; your father is not his most trusted advisor he is simply the one who pays the most, and after the trial where he appeared to attempt to keep an innocent man in prison for a family position he may not be anymore. I am the Head of an Ancient and Noble House, the Malfoy family is only Noble and is widely believed to have bought even that status." He said dryly.

"And if you think that you are the Heir to the Black family, well, you clearly do not know your family history. You have Black blood yes, but your mother is only the third daughter of a minor arm. I am the grandson of the first daughter of the major arm, and therefore I have more claim to the headship than you do. And that is disregarding the fact that I am the godson of the current Lord Black. I suggest you make sure what you say is true before you claim such things; it could easily be misunderstood as attempted line theft, a crime which carries a rather… _harsh_ punishment."

Malfoy had reddened in anger over the course of Harry's rebuttal, his fists clenched tightly at his sides and his jaw set.

"My father will hear about this!" he spat through gritted teeth, but Harry continued to smile.

"You're going to tell your father you specifically sought me out so you could try and show how much better you were, only to get slapped back? I doubt your father will be pleased if he finds out his son was acting like a _Gryffindorish child_."

He glared hatefully at Harry for a few seconds before he stalked out, his pet trolls following shortly after. Harry would have preferred to have had no contact with Malfoy Jr at all, but he wasn't going to take anything lying down. There was no denying that his father had power and could cause him problems, but he was fairly sure Malfoy wouldn't run to his father this time. He would have to tell Sirius to prepare for any attempts by Lucius for next time, as there would surely be one. Draco's ego wouldn't allow him to leave Harry be.

He was undisturbed for the rest of the train ride, thankfully, and the sky soon turned black with only the moon illuminating the hills as they steamed past, soft light glinting off small streams. The announcement that they would be arriving in Hogsmeade in five minutes pulled him from the light daze he had been in and he enlarged his trunk to get out his robes. Acromantula silk, very soft and very comfortable but extremely expensive. Anything of poorer quality would not be suitable for someone of his status and it wasn't like he was lacking for money, especially with the investments the goblins were making for him in both the muggle and magical worlds.

Once he had changed he shrunk his trunk again and put it back in his pocket, deciding it was safer there than left on the train. And it would stop Dumbledore looking through it, not that there was much in there he would be bothered about; just the invisibility cloak the goblins had taken back off him. Once the train came to a stop he waited a few minutes for the corridors to become less crowded before he left his compartment and got off the train, immediately hearing the booming voice of Hagrid. He didn't mind Hagrid all that much really, but the look the man shot him when he saw him showed that Dumbledore had likely reprimanded him for not keeping track of him in Diagon Alley.

Soon Harry and the other first years were following Hagrid down a steep slippery path that was lit only by the swinging light of Hagrid's torch, people bumping and tripping over each other. They rounded a small corner and everyone present let out a small gasp at their first sight of Hogwarts. Sirius had refused to even describe it to him before, something that Harry had thought stupid, but now he was quite thankful for not ruining the surprise. The castle was massive, perched on a mountain with bright lights shining out of countless windows and towering turrets that seemed to scrape against the stars, the moon peeking out from behind the tallest spire and all of it reflected in the lakes shining surface. Harry thought it was magnificent.

"No more'n four to a boat!"

With that everyone hurriedly made their way to a boat, wanting to reach Hogwarts as soon as possible. Harry saw the red haired boy trying to push his way through the crowd in an attempt to be in the same boat as him but was cut off by another boy clambering in before he could make it. Harry was relieved for that, and had the feeling that the boy was going to be a persistent annoyance.

"FORWARD!"

The boats began slowly gliding across the lake with a jolt, slicing through the moon and rippling the clouds as the first years barely looked away from the castle. A yelled warning had them all hastily ducking their heads as they entered a dark tunnel in the cliff face that they followed until they came to a stop at a wide underground pier. A meek looking boy was joyously reunited with his toad once they had climbed out of the boats, and then they followed Hagrid up a flight of stone steps that led to a great wooden door. With a glance around Hagrid raised a meaty fist and banged on the door three times.


End file.
